


Forged of Iron

by brevitas



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Game of Thrones AU, I swear, M/M, the other boys will come soon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:35:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire Greyjoy has not seen the prince for many years; he is unprepared when he finally does, at the king's feast. Enjolras Lannister has changed since then, and looks more like the Heir of the Iron Throne now more than ever.</p><p> </p><p>[note--this is not ASoIaF retold with the barricade boys implanted; I'm playing in Martin's sandbox but I'm using my own action figures. You will not see Joffrey and the like within this AU.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forged of Iron

**Author's Note:**

> please note that I am making up my own history--  
> Westeros is still divided into the Seven Kingdoms, ruled by each of the Seven Great Houses. There is a Lannister king on the Iron Throne, and the Targaryens are a threat from long ago that only wet nurses gossip about, usually in the same breath as they speak of the old gods. It is summer, and all of Westeros flourishes.

When Grantaire is ten his father puts him on a boat and sends him to be a ward of the Tyrells. "They'll raise you right," he says staunchly, "And teach you how to survive King's Landing." He touches his son's head in what might have been a farewell and then steps back. Grantaire watches him from the deck, his dark blue eyes terrible and hurt.

There are no tears, though neither Greyjoy smiles. Grantaire stands at the railing and watches his father's silhouette dwindle and only when he is no more than a speck does he cry. The tears are acrid and salty and the sea's wind dashes them from his cheeks; he goes below deck when night falls, and Grantaire Greyjoy does not weep again.

At first he hates the Tyrells. After a decade on a faceless stone island their endless gardens are gaudy and unnecessary, and they are openly affectionate to one another like he's never seen. He takes to climbing to the highest place he can and will sit up there for hours, trying desperately to remember the color of the ocean, the exact hue of her skin when the sun strikes the surface.

Jean Prouvaire Tyrell is the only one who goes out of his way to talk to Grantaire, and in the beginning, Grantaire hates him too. He is called Jehan and he has a soft, pleasant way of speaking, likes to touch his companions when he tells a story. He is only nine yet a smile always looks comfortable on his expressive mouth, and his green eyes are wiser than his years. He takes his family's crest seriously and wears flowers tied into his blonde hair, and Grantaire comes to associate the scent of nectar with his skin. If he leans close enough he always sees a smattering of pollen across his freckled shoulders, and eventually it is this, if not anything else, that wins him over.

They grow up together and are pages together, then squires, then knights. Stubbornly they become hedge knights and travel Westeros aiding citizens; in times without war, knights function as protectors of the commoners, and Jehan is happy to fill that niche. Grantaire participates only because the Tyrell boy has become like his brother, and he won't tolerate him doing this alone.

He picks up drinking and is only eighteen the first time Jehan takes him to a local healer for fear of him dying he'd drank so much. Jehan watches him with a great deal of concern, but says nothing. Grantaire picks up whoring next, and again Jehan monitors him but does not ask him to stop.

When they are twenty three and twenty two respectively Jehan's brother Bellerose, the Lord of Highgarden, requests they come back to the Reach. He wants to make them sworn swords of the Tyrell house and Jehan thinks that maybe Grantaire will be more stable with a home so he agrees. Grantaire will go wherever Jehan goes, and follows him back to the gardens of their childhoods.

Four weeks after returning home it is in his suite that Jehan finds Grantaire with a Tyrell houseservant. She blushes when he walks into the room without knocking and hurries half-naked to the door, apologizing profusely the whole way. When she pulls the door shut behind her, it slams.

"Who is she?" Jehan asks, ignoring Grantaire's nudity and sitting on his dresser. It's warm in here, with the windows thrown open and the sheer curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze.

Grantaire groans and flops over onto his stomach, considers scooting down and finding his pants. Jehan has seen it all before though, and despite their shared inclination towards men, they consider one another off-limits (they're practically brothers, after all, and Grantaire knows Jehan would never survive his self-destructive tendencies).

"Just someone," he says into his pillow. "I don't know her name."

Jehan speculates what might happen if he tries to reprimand him, and knows better than to try. "We're going to King's Landing," he says, hopping down and collecting Grantaire's clothes. They're soft to the touch and expensive, decorated in the Tyrell colors (Bellerose had told him he was welcome to wear the Greyjoy sigil but he refused it, and even now clasps his cape with a golden rose). "So get dressed."

Grantaire grunts when Jehan throws the clothes at him, sitting up and looking over his shoulder. Jehan is smiling, quite smugly. "You know I hate the King," he says.

This is a game they've played before; Jehan's green eyes sparkle when he answers, "That's blasphemy," and Grantaire can't help a laugh.

"You'll get to see the Prince," he points out casually, and Grantaire throws a feather-stuffed pillow at him. Jehan narrowly avoids being struck. "I know you still like him."

Grantaire starts getting dressed and at the confident remark snorts. "I do not," he says, lacing up his boots. "As I am much too old for my boyhood crushes."

They laugh together, and Grantaire fixes his gold cape in place, carefully cinching the rose that holds it. Jehan says, "Our horses are already saddled," and they make their way down to the stables.

+++++

Across Westeros, in King's Landing, Enjolras sits in his quarters and endures a servant handing him new tunics to try on. His father is keen on him looking presentable at the feast tonight, and while he'd learned a long time ago to just let Enjolras do as he pleases, on this King Chevalier is adamant.

"How do you like this one, Your Grace?" The servant asks politely, holding up the mirror so the prince can see.

Sprawled out elegantly on Enjolras' bed and propped against the wall Courfeyrac drawls, "You look quite dashing, My Liege."

Enjolras glares at him in the mirror and Courfeyrac wolfishly grins.

There's a knock on his door and Enjolras calls, "Come in," because only one person uses that particular pattern of taps; Combeferre steps inside with a brief smile, distracted by the books he carries in his arms.

"Oh, Combeferre," Courfeyrac greets cheerily, "You're missing the great fun of watching Enjolras try on pretty things."

Enjolras' eyebrow ticks down and the servant sidles out of the way; while the prince is rarely physically violent his anger is infamous, as when he finally boils over his words can lash deeper than any whip. But Combeferre touches his arm and Enjolras takes a steady breath through his nose, and mutely accepts the next shirt held out for him.

"The blue is fine," Combeferre says without looking up, taking a seat next to Courfeyrac's feet. "You may leave us."

The servant bows and carefully hangs up the chosen tunic, bowing once more before easing out the door. Enjolras turns to his friends as he pulls his shirt on, and Courfeyrac sits up a little more. "News?" He asks Combeferre intently, rubbing his silver trout brooch between his fingers.

"Not of that sort," Combeferre tells him, and Courfeyrac is relived. His father is terribly sick and the Tully heir, Courfeyrac's elder brother, is back at Riverrun taking care of him, sending Courfeyrac as a representative of the family in his stead. "The Tyrell and Greyjoy heirs are both expected to be at dinner tonight."

Enjolras, sipping on a glass of water off his table, coughs, and Courfeyrac eagerly sits up. "The Blossom Knight is coming?" He asks excitedly. "And the Iron?"

Combeferre nods and Enjolras determinedly regains his composure. His surprise is due to the fact that Jehan and Grantaire have only come to King's Landing once before, back when all three of them were in their early teens, and they'd wreaked such havoc during one of his father's political meetings that Enjolras had been forbidden to see them again. To be fair the meeting had been about a possible wife for Enjolras, and even at twenty three he still resists it--that doesn't mean he feels less bad about banning them from the castle.

Apparently his father had lifted their exile and was welcoming them back in, and Enjolras could not help but feel slighted that Chevalier had said nothing to him concerning them. He frowns, and Combeferre smiles at him.

"The news surprised your father as well," he remarks. "Though he graciously permitted them to come in through the gate."

"They're here already?" Courfeyrac asks, beaming. He'd heard the story of Enjolras' escapade with them and wanted dearly to meet the two tricksters, especially the Tyrell boy with the blonde hair and the green eyes (and who was famous for delivering to the prettiest boy in the crowd a gold rose at a tourney).

"Yes," Combeferre replies, "But they're resting. We probably shouldn't bother them."

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes but does not argue. Being a Tully heir means he has to conduct himself accordingly, and despite his urge to track down their room and shake them awake, he knows Combeferre has a point.

"Come then," he says, "Let's get ready for dinner ourselves and stop thinking of them."

Enjolras is happy to agree as there is one part of the story he never told his friends, and he is not eager to do so now.

+++++

Dinner is an elegant affair, as is expected. Enjolras is seated to his father's left and the Kingsguard member assigned to him, Ser Feuilly, stands solemnly at his elbow. Feuilly is the youngest man in the guard and by far Enjolras' favorite; though he acts strict in public, he has an easy smile and a penchant for gambling.

"Has Grantaire and Jehan arrived yet?" He asks curiously, pitching his voice so his father could not hear. Feuilly's mouth twitches into a momentary smile though he does not turn to look.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he says lowly, using the honorific in case someone overheard. "They should be announced any moment now."

And indeed they are, right after Courfeyrac's entrance. The herald reads their full titles but Enjolras isn't listening; he's staring at Grantaire Greyjoy, quite without notice, his mouth slightly open. Grantaire is nothing like the gangly fifteen-year-old Enjolras remembers; he's grown into his body over the years, and while he is haggard and walks with the slightest of limps, he is also strikingly handsome. He wears the Tyrell colors, Enjolras notices, though he is named as the Greyjoy heir.

Clearly he had not asked for that, and frowns as he walks to his seat. The Tyrell boy whispers something to him and draws a laugh, and unlike the other nobles, who know how to be quiet in everything they do, he guffaws recklessly. It draws a few looks that he pointedly ignores.

Feuilly clears his throat and Enjolras snaps his mouth shut, turns firmly back to his meal and pretends not to see his guard's amused smirk.

The dinner is slow, as it has a tendency to be, and although Enjolras continues to look over not once does he manage to catch Grantaire's eye. He's socializing with the nobles next to him, though Enjolras suspects that is thanks to Jehan, and picking at his food. He's gone through three glasses of wine, though he doesn't look drunk, just flushed and annoyed.

Enjolras licks grease off his fingers and is reaching for his drink when Grantaire finally glances at him, a flick of his eyes, and for a moment both stare at one another. Grantaire looks surprised; either he'd forgotten he was attending a king's feast or he'd been told Enjolras wouldn't be here, and he is inclined to believe the latter as Jehan yelps like his foot has been crushed under the table.

But Grantaire does not look away, and neither does Enjolras, though his father calls his name. Grantaire's eyes are the same blue they always were, the color of the sea he hadn't seen in years.

"Enjolras," someone says again and he starts, turns back to his father and his hand-selected special guests. "Lady Margalia would like to hear the story of your last hunt."

"Oh," he says pleasantly, "Of course." But he looks over his shoulder before he begins and he is satisfied to see that Grantaire is still watching him, his blue eyes sharp over the lip of his wine glass.

+++++

On the Iron Islands, Lord Mercier, the Lord Reaper of Pyke, sits at a table in a boisterous bar across from the redheaded woman who caused most of the crowd. Her guards would not allow her to come in here alone and they are now scattered across the room, crammed in at already full benches.

"Lady Roux," he says politely, though he knows her full title and should really call her queen. She says nothing about it, merely hugs her coat tighter to herself. "What can I do for you?"

She frowns at him; she is tired from the restless trip across the sea and Pyke is unforgiving as the rumors said, bleak and cold. The people are like the land, and regard her with unfriendly curiosity. She lowers her voice, upset that he chose such a public place to meet. "You have heard of the Targaryens, I assume," she says primly. He nods, his expression unreadable. "And you know they are meaning to come down through the Sunset Sea."

He nods again. The Sunset Sea is regarded as legendary, uncrossable, but his people have said they've seen land on the other side. He does not give an inch, and can tell this further irritates her.

"Then you know we must have an alliance," she says finally, understanding that he wants to hear her point. "Between my house and yours."

Lord Mercier grins. "And what are you proposin' to give me, Lady Roux?"

**Author's Note:**

> okie dokie so I would like to thank Sherrie_H/pbandshelley and a lovely tumblr!anon for requesting I write this, so this is primarily for them (though you are also quite welcome to enjoy!)
> 
> feel free to ask me any questions if something doesn't make sense; if I continue this I will bring the other barricade boys in, and some of their ladies. 
> 
> title is a play on the fact that Grantaire is from the Iron Islands but Enjolras is being groomed to take the Iron Throne, see that, haha!
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest if you'd like to ask something, request something, or just talk to me, whatever, I love anybody who reads these :) kisses!


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